


If You Ever Come Back

by Black_Rose_117



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock (TV) RPF, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century
Genre: If You Ever Come Back, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:47:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 12,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Rose_117/pseuds/Black_Rose_117
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Just one more miracle, please, just don't be... dead."</p><p>John wanted nothing more than for his friend, Sherlock Holmes, to stop being dead. He felt that with his friend gone, any chances of true love were buried in the grave deep under the dirt. But when Sherlock suddenly reappears, John realizes maybe true love can't be uncovered, no matter how deep he digs.</p><p>Song: If You Ever Come Back - The Script</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Over the past two years, since Sherlock’s death, I’ve been alone. I had someone for a short time, a girlfriend and amazing lover, her name was Tori. And while Tori was amazing and beautiful and everything I could have asked for in a girl, she was nothing in comparison to the great Sherlock Holmes._

_I was with Tori up till about a year and a half after Sherlock’s death, then, sadly, she was taken away from me as well. I watched as she boarded the plane headed for America. I watched the plane as it took off and started its long journey to the West. And later, I watched the news report that told me her plane had crashed somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean and there were no survivors._

_Two times, now, I had seen the ones I loved fall to their death and leave me. I didn’t know anything could hurt so badly as I did the day that Tori was ripped from me and I had found Sherlock’s picture that I had tucked away between the mattresses. I could feel my heart being ripped from me; as though someone had set it on fire, I could feel my pain race through me like a raging inferno. Nothing could put that fire out, and for months, I was left a hollow shell of the man I used to be._

_Maybe you’d like to know a bit about my past with the great Sherlock Holmes. I mean, I know I’ve posted about our cases on here. A Study in Pink, Hounds of Baskerville, The Woman; all stories I’m sure you’ve come familiar with over the past couple of years. But I promise you, you’ve never heard a story like I’m about to tell you._

_Sherlock and I had met one day through our friend, Lestrade, who knew we were both looking for a flat mate. The moment I had laid eyes on that man, I knew I was in for a ride. He was tall, thin and seemingly flawless; hunched over a microscope with his lips just slightly parted in thought. His skin was a light pink and his hair was a dark, contrasting black, his eyes a shinning blue/gray as he looked up from whatever he was experimenting on that day._

_Soon after, we moved in to our flat. Life was normal enough; Sherlock took cases, we’d solve them, I’d blog about them for all of you guys to read. Easy, normal. But after a couple of month of this “easy, normal” life we had, things became very complicated very quickly. I had accidently stepped in on Sherlock doing an experiment on himself. For his privacy, I will not explain the experiment in detail – it required many ropes and timers, if that is to give you any hints – but what shocked me was the long expanse of that pearly white-pink skin contrasted with lines of a hot pink. He had his feet tied to the bedposts and one hand in the same position. He was struggling to get the last one in place when I walked in, and you could imagine my reaction. Who wouldn’t just stand there and stare?_

_He noticed me after a while and blushed a deep pink, asking quietly if I minded tying the last one into place and starting the timer. As I did so, I snuck a glance at his notebook lying next to him. It was an interesting experiment, indeed. And I asked him how he planned to untie himself if I were to leave. After not being able to supply me with an answer, I convinced him to let me assist him._

_Not after long, I was untying him and he was telling me to undress. He planned on testing me as well, I guess. So I undressed – surprisingly comfortably – in front of Sherlock and allowed the man to tie me up. He timed what he needed to time and went to untie me, leaning over my body to reach the first knot. I lifted my hips up to rub my … well, member… against his stomach, pausing him in his work to let a small whimper out from his lips. He was still undressed and I could feel every small curve to his skin._

_You have to remember, we never did anything together at that point, so once I caught his attention it was hard to stop._

_After a few hours of just feeling, Sherlock finally got me untied and we were able to… advance._

_It was the first time I was ever with a man and I’m sure it was Sherlock’s first, period. But that was really the kick start to our relationship. It grew over time into something very special to me._

_Sherlock killed himself a day before I was going to propose to him. I had the ring, the place, the everything all planed out and it was going to be perfect. He was going to say yes and we were going to be happy forever._

_So here we are. Two years later. Sherlock came back to me – I only punched him about four times before calming myself enough to hear his story, but can you blame me? – and we are once again living together. I don’t know if what we had will ever return. At the moment, Sherlock seems to be pretending that what we had never existed, and I’m scared to find out the answer as to why. I still have the ring on a chain around my neck, but I doubt I’ll ever be able to present it to him. I love Sherlock Holmes, but I doubt that he feels the same. At least… not anymore._


	2. Chapter 2

I closed my laptop and looked up as Sherlock entered the front door. He had a grocery bag in his right hand and was dropping his keys into the basket by the front door as he pushed the door closed with his foot. He didn’t even look at me as he passed through on his way to the kitchen. It’s been a month now, a month since he’s returned to me and picked up cases once more. Ever since then, he has spoken to me as little as possible. It was as though he didn’t want to be back. I didn’t want to think that way, but what else _could_ I think? 

I stood and followed the man into the kitchen. He was unpacking the bags and placing the food into the cabinets quietly, moving around the kitchen as stealthily as a cat. “Sherlock,” I said quietly, half not wanting to catch his attention.

“John?” Sherlock answered, his voice hard as he continued to stack the boxes and cans. 

“It’s been a month, Sherlock-“

“At least I know now that you keep a calendar.”

I sighed to myself and shook my head, trying to let the sting of his tone slide off. “I do, yes,” I said, pushing that to the side. “But, Sherlock, are you ever going to talk to me?”

“We are now, are we not?” Sherlock asked, turning back to me and meeting my eyes. His were dark, cold, uncaring. It looked as though he wanted to be anywhere but here, doing anything but this. “Unless there was a specific topic of which you want this to go?”

“What happened?” I asked, my voice feeling ready to crack as the pain built in my chest and my eyes grew hot. “You left me for two years, if you didn’t want to come back, why did you?”

“Where else would I go?” Sherlock answered simply, shrugging one shoulder and turning to the sink to start filling the kettle with water. 

“So… you only came back because you had nowhere else?” It all started making sense. Sherlock never loved me, he never would. This was just where he had to go; he had no one else in his life to put up with him. He turned towards me, watching me with those dead, blue eyes. I could feel mine getting hotter and I knew I couldn’t hold the tears in any longer. I turned and escaped to my room, Sherlock making no effort to stop me. Yes, it all makes sense now. 

I’ve always been alone.


	3. Chapter 3

I had a picture of Sherlock tucked between my mattresses, a picture of us in the beginning of us dating. We were sitting on the couch, holding the camera our selves. I knew he had a copy as well, wither he still did or not I don’t know. He could of burned it for all I know. 

How could I have been so stupid? I knew Sherlock was not one to love, but I let myself get tricked into thinking he loved me. 

I pulled out my phone and opened my messages; I had to get away from here, away from Sherlock. 

_Can I ask you a favor?  
-JW_

_Sure, what is it?  
-GL_

_Can I come spend the night over at your place? I need to get away for a bit.  
-JW_

_Of course, but why? I thought since Sherlock had come back you’d want to spend as much time with him as possible.  
-GL_

_I do, but he doesn’t.  
-JW_

_Can you explain?  
-GL_

_Can we talk about this when I get there? I just need to pack so I’ll be over in about thirty, if that’s okay?  
-JW_

_Of course, see you then.  
-GL_

I closed my phone after reading the final message from Greg and tucked it into my pocket. I pulled out a shoulder bag I had shoved under my bed and unzipped it. Piling a few pairs of clothes out and throwing in my laptop charger, I shouldered the bag and moved towards the bathroom to pack what I needed from there. I threw in my tooth brush and tooth paste, figuring I could barrow soap from Greg as well as a hair brush. I zipped up my bag, adjusted the strap, and thought back to that picture between my mattresses. Would it be worth leaving here? Or should I take it, just so I could try to remember a happier time, even though it was all a lie. Could I handle the pain of taking it? Could I handle the pain of leaving it? In the end, I decided it was for the best just to take it and hide it rather than mourn over not having it later. I guess Greg could always hide it for me if I need him to. 

Digging it out from my bed, I went out to grab my laptop and place the picture safely between the screen and keyboard as to make sure it wouldn’t get damaged. It was still my favorite picture and I didn’t want anything to happen to it. 

“Where are you going?” I heard a familiar voice ask from the doorway of the kitchen. I tense slightly at the sound of the man I thought I loved before forcing myself to relax. 

“Out,” I muttered, not turning to the detective. Why should I let him get the satisfaction of seeing the pain I couldn’t hide?

“But where?” he asked again. 

I wet my lips and started towards the door, laptop tucked under my arm. “Out,” I said again, and slammed the door – slightly too hard, probably – on the conversation. I jogged down the stairs, made it to the street, and waved down a cab. As it stopped in front of me, I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder and up at the window to our flat. Sure enough, there stood the man I used to love, dressing gown flowing down his skinny body and violin hanging from his hand by his side. 

_I couldn’t tell if he was sad to see me leave as I climbed into the cab and shut the door. Last I saw, he lifted his violin to tuck under his chin and placed the bow on the delicate strings, no doubt to go to work on a new piece of his. Wither it was in celebration or deflation, I wouldn’t know. All I knew was that that was the last few memories I would have of 221B Baker Street for a good while._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to upload these in a few short posts rather than all at once. It'll be more likely to be updated this way ^^; Hope you all like it better this way!
> 
> Please, check out my other works on my page or even more so on http://black-rose-117.deviantart.com/

I adjusted the strap on my shoulder as I stepped back from Greg’s door after knocking. I could hear shuffling around on the other side, and waited for Greg to open the door and admit me inside. Sure enough, he waved me inside and I stepped in with a nod of thanks, glancing around at the walls. Last I was here, pictures of Greg and his now-ex-wife covered the dirty white walls in frames from floor to ceiling. Now, the frames were gone, there were no pictures in sight, and the place looked … abandoned. 

“So what’s up?” Greg asked, motioning for me to sit on the couch, the offer I took. “Want some tea? I have a kettle on the stove now.”

“Please,” I nodded with a small nod and watched him leave the room. He came back with two cups, handing me one. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” he said, taking a seat at the other end of the couch. “So what’s going on with Sherlock, now? The git finally get to you?”

“Ever since he came back,” I said after a sip of tea, “he’s been … different.” 

“Different? How so?” 

“He doesn’t act like we were in a relationship before. He doesn’t really talk to me, doesn’t seem to want to acknowledge me, doesn’t look at me with those sparks he used to have; nothing is the same. I asked him why he came back if he didn’t want to be there, and he just asked me where else would he go. I’m doubting he actually came back for me, but rather just because he didn’t have anywhere else.”

“That can’t be the only reason,” Greg chided carefully, leaning forward and placing his tea cup on the table. “Sherlock did love you two years ago, everyone saw it-“

“He let us see what he wanted us to see,” I said, standing and starting to pace a bit, the tea cup forgotten on the couch arm. “I bloody fell for it.” 

Greg just shook his head and sighed heavily, moving to take the cup off the arm before it became anymore of a hazard. “I don’t know what’s up with him,” Greg muttered, “but I know for a fact he loved you back then and I doubt that his feelings have changed now. But in either case, you are more than welcome to stay here as long as you need.”

“Thank you, Greg,” I forced a smile. “If you don’t mind, can you show me where the guest room is? I’d like to update my blog, it helps me relax.”

“Of course, John,” Greg said, motioning for me to follow him. He led me passed his bedroom to the end of the hallway, opening the door and stepping inside. “It’s small, but I hope it’ll do.”

“It’s fine,” I reassured him, placing my bag down by the door. “Thank you again.”

He nodded and turned to leave, closing the door behind him. I unpacked my laptop and took a moment to change into my sleep clothes, sitting on the bed with my back against the back board with my computer on my lap.


	5. Chapter 5

_What I updated that day isn't very important to the story I am presenting you with. Of course, you could always go back and read the whole of it, but I can throw a summery or so into here so you lot don't have to bother yourselves with the hassle._

_Basically, I told you all that I was taking refuge at Greg's, talked about my thoughts of the situation, and told you that the pain was so grand that I just wanted to off myself over the roof of St. Bart's. It was a vortex of depression and no matter which way I turned, I was only sucked farther in._

_I stayed longer at Greg's than I had intended to. At first, I had told him that I would be leaving within the week; he only responded with a simple, kind, "When you are ready. Until than, you are welcome to stay as long as you need."_

_After a month, it wasn't so much like I was staying to get away, it was more of I was staying because ... well, Greg and I were frankly enjoying each other's company. I had been so alone for those two years Sherlock was gone, and even with Tori, that feeling never really left. Tori was just there to more or less help me trick myself into thinking that I still had some love that wasn't dedicated to Sherlock, like I could find happiness with someone else. When she died, it was kind of the slap in the face I needed to realize what I was doing. When she died, sure, I cried... but not for her. I cried for Sherlock, for how alone I was without him, for how much my life depended on him._

_Greg, on the other hand, had his wife walk out on him. He had come home one day to find her stuff gone, her ring on the table, and a short note telling him it was over and to expect divorce papers to be in the post. It was sometime in the same month as Sherlock's death. It was probably because of Sherlock that his wife had left him. After his death, Greg spent many long, sleepless nights sorting things out in the press - probably for my sanity. He didn't do much to change their mind on the matter that it was all him, creating and solving the cases, but he did manage to distract them with other, more exciting news. I don't know how he did it, but he did - and it cost him his wife._

_The next bit of the story is something I cannot say I'm proud of. I regret none of it, but after a while following the period of time I'm about to describe, Greg and I both deem it as an "act in the moment" sort of situation. I bet the smarter half of you have figured out where this is all going, but humor me and continue reading if you would. I promise you, things are going to get very interesting very quickly._


	6. Chapter 6

A month passed by before Greg and I even knew it. It didn't feel like it had been that long, but it had been, and truth be told, neither of us wanted it to stop. We enjoyed being able to come home to someone, and that soon became obvious to us. We were tired of coming home to an empty flat and, even with Sherlock there, I was done with feeling so alone each night. With Greg, it was nice. It was comfortable. It wasn't stressful or worrisome or anything that it was before. It was just... us. 

Of course, I didn't really work anymore. It was too dangerous, having someone like myself work as a doctor. I got a job here and there as a front desk worker, or a nurse, or even, once, a part time doctor while one of the other doctors was out of town for a long period of time - but none of them lasted very long. I either quit after a few days work or was fired due to not being needed or just lacking in the skills they really needed. I didn't mind, I had a good amount of money saved up in the banks. Truth be told, I never really needed to work after Afghanistan. I told Sherlock that we needed the money simply so I could go out and get a job. I wanted to feel useful. I wanted to show Sherlock that I was, I guess, good enough for him. Of course I ended up following him around on cases like some sort of dog, but he obviously didn't mind. Not than. 

But tonight, it was just Greg, myself, and a nice, big bottle of scotch. The two of us had glasses and I raised mine to him before taking a deep drink - my first of the night. 

"To... whatever," I mutter, staring down into the liquid after lowering the glass from my lips. Greg hummed as he took a sip and I glanced up at him.

"To us," he corrected once he lowered his drink. "It's been a long time since I've sat down with someone else to have a drink, John. Ever since my wife left me, I can't seem to bring myself to deal with people for... longer than ten minutes, I'd say."

"Than you must be _suffering_ with me here," I rolled my eyes with a small, half-hearted smirk on my lips. Tonight was just a rough night all around. Sherlock had emailed me earlier and I wasn't too fond of opening it right away. In fact, it still sat in my inbox, unopened, as we drank.

"What's up with you, mate? I know why I'm drinking tonight, but why are you?" I was about to make up some answer before he added, "And don't just say to join me or some bullshit. I want the truth, Watson."

I smirked and looked back down into my drink. "Sherlock emailed me today..."

"What did that bastard have to say to you?" Greg asked, facial expression going cold. 

"I don't know," I sighed. "I didn't open it. I couldn't open it..."

"Open it now. We have a bottle of scotch to make you forget and the whole night ahead of us! What better time?"

I paused and sipped my drink for some time to think. Greg did have a point; if anything he said upset me, I could just... drink it away. What the hell?

"Fine, hold up. Let me go get my laptop," I said, standing and placing my drink on the table that sat in front of the couch. I made my way to the guest room - or my room? I don't know what I should call it at this point. Not much room for guests right now. - and picked my laptop up from where it sat on the sheets of my bed. Balancing it on one arm, I opened it and began to boost it up as I made my way back to the couch and Greg. 

"What does it say?" he asked as I sat back down and scrolled to the email, clicking it and loading it up. 

I took a deep breath before reading the email through.

_John,_

_I take it as you won't be coming back, am I correct? I don't know where you went off to, but I took the liberty of boxing up all your stuff and piling it up just inside the front door to the flat. I didn't know what you really needed, or wanted, so I just threw in whatever - sorry if anything is broken. I also put in some of the gifts you gave me over the years, things that I don't see myself in need of. Why keep it, right? I figured you could dispose of them or regift them or whatever you people do with things like that._

_Any who, could you pick them up sooner than later? They are disturbing my thinking by distracting me if I sit within visual distance of them. It's just a pile of... things in my line of vision. Unpleasant, as I'm sure you understand. There aren't many, only seven, but still._

_Do make yourself invisible when you come to grab them, I'm in the middle of some very important work._

_-Sherlock._

Once I was finished, I sat back, pushed my laptop on the couch next to me from my lap, picked my glass up and downed it in one gulp. Greg stood from his seat as I reached for the bottle of scotch again and he picked the laptop up, sitting down next to me to read it through as well. 

"That prick," he muttered as I downed my second glass and went for the third. "John, slow down. You're going to get yourself sick."

"Don' care," I slurred, the effect of alcohol, the magical thing it was, already taking effect. "How could I love him?! Why was I so _bloody_ stupid?! God, how did I not see him for what he was? What he is!"

"You loved him, John. And you thought he loved you, too. No one can blame you for thinking so."

"That's the thing though, Greg. It not that I loved him... It's that I love him. Even after all this shit, I still want him to be mine! I waited for two years, praying for some sort of miracle to bring him back. When he finally came back, and everything fell into just us living together once again, no feelings or loving or anything, well, I fell apart. I wanted my Sherlock back. I wanted those times that we spent together, learning each other, back. But now they won't be back, and I doubt I'll ever find someone like that again..."

Greg was silent as I downed my third glass and I could see out of the corner of my eye that he was just shaking his head. He snapped the laptop closed and set it on the table, reaching for his drink once again and finishing his glass. "You will, you know," he muttered as he poured us both another drink. 

"What?"

"Find someone else. I don't think you have to worry too much about that," he said, placing his glass on the table. "If you want, I'll go with you to grab your stuff. Maybe it'll be easier with me there?"

"Maybe... Thanks, Greg."

The night continued on as we drank our way through the entire bottle. The talking soon stopped due to lack of coherent sentences being able to be formed, but we did start to get rather... comfortable with each other.


	7. Chapter 7

I don't remember how we got there, but I do remember feeling the softness of the mattress below me and the warm, comfortable weight of Greg's bare chest against mine on top of me. My hands were clawing at his back and our lips were messily locking together, teeth banging together in our drunken state. I, somehow, got my fingers around the button of his trousers and undid it, pulling at the fabric until Greg shifted his hips and shimmied out of the tight denim. I tugged at his pants until he lifted his hips enough for me to free his member from them before I, sloppily, rolled us over so I was on top of him. 

Together, we managed to get my trousers and pants off, everything being thrown somewhere off into the darkness. As our members rubbed together for the first time, a deep, rumbling growl burst from my lips and I could feel his chest as he groaned beneath me. 

"I'mma fu'k 'ou soooooo hard," I growled into Greg's ear, taking the flap of skin between my teeth and tugging at it. 

"How?" he asked, tilting his head up at me. I took this opportunity to bite his neck and leave a nice red mark.

"In da ath," I slurred, reached down and squeezing one of his plump, round, hard cheeks. He groaned loudly at that. 

"Shounds... pain'ul," he muttered, looking up at me nervously as I pulled back slightly. "Ith it?"

" 'ave 'ou eva been witsh a man befur?" I asked, licking his chest over to one nipple. 

I, sloppily, sucked on the first nipple till it was hard to the touch before licking my way over to the other one. Greg breathed heavily above me and I took a moment, once I was done, to mark his chest with a red/purple mark right next to the nipple. His fists balled into the covers as I did so. 

"N-noo..." he groaned, arching his back and making his member rub against my lower stomach. I took it in my hand and gently started stroking him as best I could. 

I placed two fingers to his lips and he stared up at me, waiting to be told what to do. "Shuck," I ordered, pressing my fingers harder into his mouth. 

He did as told and lapped at my fingers with his warm, wet tongue. As soon as I felt they were wet enough, I pulled them out of his mouth and went down to his hole. I circled his entrance a few times, slicking it up with the saliva that sat on the tips of my fingers before I pushed one in to the second knuckle. Greg moaned loudly, pressing down on my finger and I allowed his body to swallow up more of my digit. I pumped as best I could in a steady rhythm, but everything was just messy and uneven. 

I captured his lips with mine as I fingered him and pumped him slowly, and as soon as I felt he was open enough, I pulled my finger out, circled it a few more times to spread the saliva a little more and pushed two fingers in. Greg let out a small scream as I filled him with my fingers which I swallowed with my lips. 

"Ple'sh," Greg begged quietly after a while of me just pressing my fingers into him. "Ple'sh... more..."

"More?" I confirmed, pulling my fingers out and watching him carefully. He nodded and I settled myself in between his legs. Lining up, I pushed myself in and moaned loudly. " 'ou are sooooo ti'th. Feel... sooooo good..."

"Jo'h... God! I'm alr'dy closth..." Greg said, throwing his head to the ceiling as I continued to move in a messy, uneven pattern. 

"Meh... too..." I groaned, feeling my orgasm building inside me. 

That's one thing about alcohol, it makes pleasure feel ten times more pleasurable and for your body to be unable to hold on for long. As soon as you start to feel pleasure, your body wants to release than and there, and theres not much you can do about it but let it go. So, needless to say, that as soon as Greg fell over the edge not two minutes after I entered him, I was soon tumbling over after him. We screamed to the ceiling, one after the other, and Greg just groaned heavily as I filled him. 

I fell on top of him when I finished, pulled out, kissed him on the lips for a moment, and as soon as I blinked again, I was asleep with Greg in my arms.


	8. Chapter 8

I woke up the next morning, groggy and with a very large, pounding headache. Someone was in my arms, not a woman - for there were no breasts - but a man, and my mind immediately jumped to Sherlock. I couldn't open my eyes, my head giving a large, painful protest when I tried to, but who else could it be? So I leaned forward and pressed a gentle, loving kiss to the back of the man's neck. 

" 'mornin' Sherlock," I groaned, squeezing him closer to my body. It felt nice to have him back in my arms, a feeling I thought I'd never have again.

"I'm not Sherlock..." a familiar voice said quietly, sounding confused. My eyes flew open, pulling a groan from my lips as the light attacked my eyes, and I sat up way too fast. The room spun for a moment before it focused, my gaze landing on Greg. "John?"

"Oh god... what happened last night?" I asked, rubbing my hand over my eyes, trying to get my head to calm the fuck down. I noticed a cool breeze running over my body and tensed up. "We didn't..."

"We did... Damn it, mate, if it was my fault I'm so sorry. I'm going to... um-"

"Get dressed?" I finished.

"Yeah."

"Me, too."

Without making eye contact, we both stood up - our backs to the other - and collected our clothes. I pulled on my pants quickly before I even bothered looking for my trousers or shirt. My trousers were over by the door and I collect those and slipped into them, buttoning them up, but my shirt wasn't anywhere in sight. 

"Uh, Greg? Do you see my shirt anywhere?" I asked, still not looking at the man. "I can't seem to find it."

"John," I looked at Greg and looked up where he was pointing, blushing lightly when I noticed that it hung lazily off the ceiling fan. I stood on the bed to pull it down while Greg murmured, "I don't even want to know how it got up there. I'm going to make some coffee, care for any?"

"God, please!" 

Greg hummed and left the room as I climbed off the bed and pulled my shirt on over my head. As soon as I had myself situated, only having the headache left to deal with and the inevitable extreme awkwardness between myself and Greg, I decided it would be best to stop by the bathroom and try to scrub the dead skunk taste out of my mouth. It took me a good ten minutes to use the toilet and brush my teeth, but by the time I made my way downstairs, Greg had two cups of steaming hot coffee on the counter, the way we liked it. I picked up my mug and thanked him, sitting down across from him at the table.

"I guess we should talk about this," he said, breaking the thick silence. I looked up from my drink to look at him. "What do you remember about last night?"

I sipped my coffee, granting myself more time to get my hazy thoughts in order. I blushed as I said, "I remember finishing the bottle we had open and, somehow, we ended up kissing on the couch. After that, I just remember making it into your bedroom, touching you... and than falling asleep. Do you remember much?"

"No," he said, shifting in his chair, "but I'm thinking you ended up... well, fucking me. My ass hurts like mad and I do remember stripping down and feeling you when you first... let a finger penetrate..."

"Arg, I'm sorry, Greg. I didn't hurt you... too bad, did I?" This was the most uncomfortable conversation I can honestly say I have ever had, topping off my mother's awkward "bird and the bees" talk when I was about eleven. Believe me when I say that means something. 

"I don't think it's permanent damage, if that's what you're asking. I don't know how it's supposed to feel the next day, seeing as I've never done it before."

"And I can't really explain it to you," John growled, shaking his head. "If it doesn't go away within a day, well, just make sure you... well-" I sighed. "That's when you know it's probably a little more serious than just your ass getting used to stretching that far."

Greg nodded and shifted again. I could tell he wasn't that comfortable but there was nothing I could do. We lapsed into silence and something inside me was telling me that I should leave Greg's flat. I didn't know if I could deal with the awkwardness that was settling between us, but where else could I go? Sherlock, very obviously, didn't want me back, Molly had moved in with her new boyfriend so I couldn't stay with her, and my parents were dead. Harry was just out of the question, period. I really didn't have anywhere but here, and I fucked that up rather quickly over one stupid, drunk mistake... Great.


	9. Chapter 9

I sighed as I zipped up my duffle bag of stuff, unsure of really where I was heading. I didn't have the money to go live anywhere other than some shitty, run down apartment, and that was if I got a deal. Why did I have to go fuck everything up? What was with me? Something deep inside me told me it was Sherlock's fault, fucking me up to the point where I just wanted someone to cling to, and who was to say that was wrong? Sherlock messed me up, and now I'm just a broken shell of who I used to be. There was a quiet knock on the door and I couldn't hide the bag in time before Greg pushed the door open.

"Look, John, I just wanted to say-" He paused when he looked up and saw me with a duffle bag on my bed, my gaze pointed towards the ground to avoid looking at him. "Are you... going somewhere?"

If I didn't know any better, I'd say he sounded almost hurt. "I messed up, Greg. I just don't feel right staying here anymore. I'm getting out of your way."

"Why? Where are you going to go?"

I turned to the bag and started messing with one of the open side zippers, I didn't want to look at him and not be able to supply him with an answer. If I were to do that, he'd easily talk me into staying. 

"John, I don't want you to leave-"

"Well, I can't stay!" I shot back over my shoulder. "Greg, I fucked up. I fucked everything up. I got drunk, hurt you... I mean, we had sex, Greg. Did you even want that?"

"No," Greg admitted quietly, and I just squeezed my eyes closed at the plummeting feeling of my stomach. So I rapped him basically? Great... "But," he continued just as quietly, "I didn't... hate it."

I looked back at him and raised an eyebrow at him. "What does that mean?" I prompted.

"I actually kind of... liked it," he murmured, the blush just as obvious in his voice as it was on his cheeks. "It's been a while since someone made me feel that way... and since someone touched me like you did. I don't know, but I just felt... loved, I guess, with you. I know it's stupid, and that we were drunk at the time, but it's the way I felt and now, I mean, I guess I wouldn't mind if you wanted to do it again. If not that's perfectly fine! I mean... you can at least stay."

He was back tracking so much and I turned to look at him fully. He had his gaze cast to the wall instead of me and his cheeks were a light pink. He was playing with his nails, picking at them, and leaned up against the door frame. 

"So what shall we do?"

"In all honest," Greg said sadly, "I don't know yet."


	10. Chapter 10

_There isn't much that I can say at this point. Honestly, I want to say that I sat down with Greg, talked about everything like adults, treated it delicately since our friendship basically held in the balance of working this out. But we didn't. I'm not proud at all of what I did. Or said. Or even about what I thought at the time. But it's what happened._

_If I could only go back in time, fix everything that I broke. I would have stopped myself from drinking that bottle of scotch. I would have gone back to stop Sherlock from jumping. I would have gone back and stopped myself from pushing myself up against him while I was tied to that damned bed. But who could blame me? We were naked, I was horny and tied up, and Sherlock was there just being... Sherlock. There really wasn't any stopping me._

_But if I had had self control, I have to wonder what would have happened those many years ago. Would Sherlock and I have been together through this ordeal? Would Greg and I have ended up in bed like we did - drunk and lonely - or would it have been our own free will? Maybe we still have kissed and screwed around, but maybe it would have been sober and because we both wanted it._

_Either way, I was faced with a hurt looking Greg, no where to go otherwise, and a mix of emotions over Sherlock and Greg. What I did was just what needed to be done at the time. Please don't think any less of me then you do now._


	11. Chapter 11

"What do you mean you don't know yet?" I asked, frowning at Greg as he just slowly shook his head. "Greg, look at me."

Greg raised his gaze to me, his cheeks a light pink and embarrassment in his eyes. "I just mean... nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I don't know what to do. I was sort of hoping that you'd have an idea?"

I sighed and sat down on the bed behind me, running a hand through my hair in thought. "You said you did like it, right?" I asked quietly, looking up at him.

"What I remember of it, yes," Greg nodded. 

"Well-" I cut off for a moment. Was I ready to move on from Sherlock? Greg was a great man, and I could see him being a good lover, but could I really just push Sherlock away and out of my heart and allow myself to love Greg? Greg deserved someone who could love him totally and fully. He deserved someone who could make him feel happy and who wouldn't put more stress on him than his work already does. But could that really be me? "-If you really want to, and you have to be one-hundred percent sure that you want to, we could try again. While we're sober, of course! Now, I don't want an answer right now," I cut him off. "This is a big choice, something that will change the relationship between us - possibly - forever. Do me a favor and sleep on it. We can talk about it again in the morning, if you wish, but take your time. Until then, let's just go about living our lives as normal."

"I agree," Greg said. "Well, one of my mates at work gave me a new DVD of a movie that he said, and I quote, was a 'must see to live a happy life' action movie. I was thinking of watching it. Did you want to come and watch it with me? I'll make some more tea."

"That sounds good," I agreed, and stood from the bed. "But, please, allow me to get the tea this time. You set up the movie."

With a quick nod of his head, Greg led me out of the room and we set to work preparing for the movie. I decided to pop some popcorn as well and placed the bag in the microwave, setting it for four minutes. It seemed we avoided a huge problem in our friendship, at least, for now.


	12. Chapter 12

The movie was nice; just Greg and I sitting down on the couch with two cups of tea between us and a bowl of popcorn fresh from the microwave. It wasn't weird, yet with the movie in, I was just able to watch it and completely ignore the fact that Greg was within arms reach of me. By the time the credits were rolling, a silence fell over us with the steady beat of the music of the credits playing in the background. I Pretended to be interested in the credits as Greg sighed, set his mug down on the coffee table and stood from the sofa. 

"Are you finished?" he asked, pointing to my mug.

"Yes, thank you," I nodded up at him and went back to pretending to read the credits. "The movie was good."

"It was, I'm glad that I got to see it."

"Me too," I said, standing with the popcorn bowl in my hand and following Greg into the kitchen, stretching as I went. "I really like that director, he always does a good job."

"I'll have to check out more movies by him, then."

"You should."

I put the bowl in the sink and began running warm water from the tap, putting soap on the scrub and beginning to wash the popcorn oil off of the plastic. Once I was finished, I moved the dish next to the sink, setting it up over a paper towel to dry, and turned to Greg. 

"I figure I would go to bed," I said, yawning and sending a small smile at Greg. "See you in the morning, 'kay?"

"Okay, oh and John?" I turned to look at Greg, who was looking down at his hands. "I really am thinking about it, okay? I promise, I'm not going to rush into any decision. So when I do tell you my answer, please know that I put a lot of thought behind it and it's not just because at that moment that's what I want."

I paused and stared at Greg for a moment before nodding with a small hum, turning towards the stairs and starting back up to my room. At least I knew Greg was actually thinking hard about it.


	13. Chapter 13

Greg had work the next morning, so, of course, when he woke up at four in the morning, I was forced to as well. Well, forced isn't the right word to use. It's more of that he was moving around so much and, at least to my standards, making so much noise that I woke up and just couldn't for the life of me fall back to sleep. So I got up, yawned, and made my way downstairs where a half dressed Greg was standing in the kitchen over the coffee maker. He turned towards me as I entered and blushed lightly.

"Oh, good morning, John. I didn't wake you did I?" 

"Actually, yeah, you did," I said, moving over to the stove top. I pulled out a pan and turned on the heat. 

"Oh, sorry. I'm not used to having to be quiet anymore. I'll try to not make too much noise tomorrow," Greg said, raising his hand and scratching at the back of his neck.

"It's no problem. I was going to make pancakes. Did you want some before work? I know you normally go in without eating, but that's not the best for you. You should eat _something_."

"Uh, yeah, sure. If it's not too much of an issue for you, I'd love some."

"Of course not. You can go up and finish getting ready if you wish. I can make breakfast for the two of us," I said, nodding down at Greg's shirtless torso. "Or you can at least pull a shirt on. Or is that the new trend at the office?"

He chuckled along with me and shook his head. "No, no. Again, I'm just not used to people being here this early in the morning. I haven't had to go into work this early while you've been here. It's always been to come in around ten or so."

Greg turned and left the kitchen, coming back a few moments later with a shirt in his hand. I finished the batter of just the mix and water and began to pour a good load into the pan, the batter bubbling around the edges as it took to the heat. 

"So why are you having to go in so early, anyway?" I asked, taking a spatula from a drawer next to the stove top. 

"I got a text from Sherlock..."

"Oh..." We both fell quiet and I busied myself with the pancake mixture, pretending to be more interested in mixing it then I actually was. _So Sherlock is still texting Greg. What am I thinking? Of course he is. They basically work together. Still..._

"Yeah, he thinks he found the murderer of a case that fell cold four years prior. He connected a recent case to it a month or so ago just by the smell of the perfume the woman were wearing and their family history. He's amazing... really..."

"I know he is," I tried my best to keep the pain and anger out of my voice, but by the way that Greg looked at me, I don't think I did a very good job of it. 

"I'm sorry, mate. I didn't mean to-"

"Don't bother," I cut him off. "I know what you meant. Let's just leave it at that."

Greg fell silent and I finished cooking the first four pancakes, flipping them once more to make sure they were done before scooping them up onto a plate, handing it to Greg and starting to pour on the rest of the batter into four pancakes. 

"Thank you," Greg muttered, the sound of the fridge opening behind me as he pulled out the small bottle of syrup. "Smells good."

"Yeah."

The rest of the time was silent as we ate and Greg got ready for work. He nodded his goodbye as he made his way out the door, then the rest of the flat fell deathly quiet as I was left to eat there alone and forced to think over thoughts that I avoided thinking ever since that email from Sherlock. 

_I guess, at this point, you all are asking yourselves the same questions I was asking myself then. How could he so easily throw me away after everything we've been through? After everything I did for him? How did I so quickly become just nothing to him? It made me so mad and so upset that he could do something this extreme so easily. I guess that's what really made up my mind for me. I had decided that, on that day, I was going to face Sherlock once last time. I was going to go get my things from his flat and, if I could, get a few last answers from him; even if I had to make him talk._


	14. Chapter 14

That afternoon, I had decided that it was time to go and face Sherlock after so long. It had been months. What if I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye when I got there? What if something happens that I end up regretting? Sherlock was my first love, after all… What if I melt with the first words he says to me? 

 

I can’t let that happen.

 

So, after a long time of mental preparation, I locked up Greg’s flat behind me with the spare key he had entrusted with me, flagged down a passing cabbie, and directed him to 221B Baker Street. 

 

It seemed foreign to be standing there, staring up at the flat that I knew I no longer called home, knowing that just beyond those doors sat my old life. My old love. My old everything.

 

But I couldn’t think about that, I feared that I was going to back down before I even passed the threshold. So I steeled myself for what was about to happen, took one more deep breath, and used my key to open the front door. 

 

Seventeen steps. 

 

That’s all that stood between myself and the only door that separated my old life from my new. Things may be awkward with Greg at the moment, but I still had to call it my life. My life was with him, just hanging out and … well, getting over old pains. 

 

I slowly took the steps, soon to be faced with the pine-green door with the small golden handle. I pushed in my key, heard the click of the lock as I twisted it, and pushed the barrier away from me, it swinging open easily. 

 

I was shocked, really, at the sight that greeted me. There sat Sherlock, robe hanging loosely around his form - but that wasn’t really anything new, now was it? No, what shocked me was the sight of his brother, sitting patiently across the way from him. The British Government’s face stretched into a smile at the sight of me, giving me an uneasy feeling that I couldn’t quite place. 

 

“Ah, John! We were just talking about you, actually,” Mycroft said, standing with his umbrella in hand and stepping up to me to take my hand in a firm shake. 

 

“About me? What for?” I asked, stealing a glance at the Consulting Detective. Sherlock didn’t move from his chair, back to us and gaze pointed straight ahead. “What could _he_ possibly have to say about me to you?”

 

“I had noticed your absence and was asking brother dearest here what happened to you. When he said that you had left, naturally I was curious as to what he could have done this time - “

 

“He was doing what he does best; poking his fat nose in where people rather not have it,” Sherlock finally spoke up, making a display of standing up from his chair and moving over to join the others. “Annoying, really.”

 

_His eyes…_

 

They were so cold as they looked at me. Uncaring. Lifeless, almost. My heart did a flip in my chest and my throat tightened up at the glare. I didn’t know what to say, or do. Everything was just frozen. 

 

“Like it or not, little brother, John is a friend of mine as well. I do like to know if you upset him at all,” Mycroft said, turning his gaze on me. I turned my attention away from Sherlock to lock eyes with the British Government. 

 

“If you don’t mind, Mycroft, I’d rather not speak about it. I’m just here to get my stuff and return home,” I said, turning then to the small pile of ten or so boxes that sat next to the door, ready to be taken. 

 

“And where would that be?” Mycroft asked, appearing next to my side as I opened up one of the flaps on the first box to peek inside. “I know for a fact that you don’t have enough money to your name to be renting a place all by yourself.”

 

“Greg has been nice enough to let me crash at his place.”

 

“Lestrade?” Sherlock asked in a voice that caught my attention and made me turn to him. A flash of hurt was masked in his eyes just as I held his gaze. “And are you two in a new relationship together now? I know of Greg’s wife leaving him.”

 

_Now, in my defense, I know that what I said next wasn’t - maybe - the smartest thing to say. But faced with two very powerful men kind of makes you panic and you just say whatever the first thing your mind tells you to say is, no matter how stupid._

“Yes. Yes we are.”


	15. Chapter 15

Sherlock’s glare was unreadable, even to me, the man that knew him the best - well, used to. Icy, jealous, angry, uncaring, cold, uninterested; all of them swam in his steely eyes. I couldn’t tell if I was glad or not to see that the news did affect him, even if the news wasn’t one-hundred percent true. It was just sort of a warm, satisfying feeling to know that I could still get Sherlock jealous. But why was he? 

 

“Ah,” Mycroft said, breaking the seemingly ever-lasting silence, which, in reality, probably only lasted a few moments. “Well, I’m happy for you, John. I hope you find Greg a … suitable partner.”

 

“I do,” I stated, turning my gaze to Mycroft, the older Holmes’ eyes sincere. I turned back to Sherlock, who looked back for a long moment before turning his back on the two of us and picking up his violin, placing it just under his chin but no yet raising the bow. 

 

Mycroft sighed, “I do believe that is our cue to leave.”

 

“I came to get my stuff. He can wait.”

 

“Come now, John,” Mycroft said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pointing me towards the door. “I shall send one of my men to pick up your stuff and deliver it to Greg’s place. I believe that would do you some good as well, seeing your history with your knee. You should avoid lifting heavy objects if at all possible.”

 

Sherlock raised his bow to the strings and began to play a few slow, quite cords. Mycroft lead me out of the flat but I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder, Sherlock staring at me in the reflection of the window pane. We held gazes for a moment, his music low and sad before picking up into a vibrant array of cords and vibrations. I had to turn back to look in front of me when we made it to the steps, but that moment of Sherlock’s gaze stuck in my mind long after. He looked, actually, hurt. 

Why?


	16. Chapter 16

We made our way outside and Mycroft closed the door behind us, turning to me with a look that just told me he knew something was up. 

 

“Did you feel it necessary to lie to Sherlock?” he asked simply. He didn’t seem angry, or surprised, even, and all I could do was sigh. 

 

“I don’t know,” I sighed, watching a taxi pass by on the street. “I mean, I didn’t lie to him. Greg and I have … well, nevermind. It wasn’t a total lie.”

 

“So what would you call it if it wasn’t a lie?”

 

“A stretch of the truth?” I tried, Mycroft looking at me like he wasn’t going to take it. “Fine, fine. I don’t know, okay? I guess I … panicked.”

 

“He misses you, John.”

 

That made my breath hitch in my throat. He … missed me? “Why?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

I didn’t even mean to say it out loud, it just sort of slipped. But now it was out, and my mind was racing. “Why would he miss me? He was the one who pushed me away. He did this.”

 

“You were his only love, John - “

 

“He never loved me,” I hissed, rounding on the older Holmes. “Don’t try to tell me he did. Before he … ‘left’ ,” I made the air quotes, “he distanced himself. I could see it. He lost interest in me, and you don’t lose interest in things that you love.”

 

“Do you remember whom you are talking about?”

 

“I damn well do,” I said louder, rage piling up in me as I thought over the past few years and all the shit that I went through because of this man. “He used to treat me like he cared, but that ended real fast. Now, when he looks at me, you know what I see, Mycroft? I see regret. Ice. Emptiness. He doesn’t give a damn about me anymore! In fact, I think he’s grateful that I’m gone!”

 

“John - “

“No, Mycroft. I don’t need this. I’m just starting to not feel like I’m nothing, I’m starting to be able to move on. I don’t need to be sucked back in,” I flagged down a passing cabbie and opened the door, half way in before turning back to the older Holmes. “If you could get your men to deliver my stuff later today, that would be great.” And with that, I shut the door and directed the Cabbie back to Greg’s.


	17. Chapter 17

It wasn’t until later that evening that Greg had come back home, his shoulders slumped and his expression tired. I looked up at him from where I was sitting on the couch, laptop perched on my lap and a document open on the screen. 

 

“Hard day?” I asked, watching as Greg hung his coat up on the rack and let out a jaw-cracking yawn. 

 

“You don’t know the half of it,” he murmured, coming over and throwing himself into the chair next to mine, facing me with his head cradled in his hand. “Nothing like chasing around the Consulting _Prick_ all day to make you feel like a bloody old man. I swear, John, I’m going down hill more and more each day.”

 

“I understand where you’re coming from,” I said, rolling my eyes.

 

“I have no idea how you did it for all those years. You must of been in like … amazing shape.”

 

“Not enough that Sherlock wouldn’t poke fun at my stomach every once in a while if he caught me shirtless while he was in a bad mood.”

 

Greg shook his head and growled quietly before muttering, “Sorry, I’m sure it’s not a topic you want to be talking about.”

 

“It’s fine. I was actually over there this morning.”

 

“At Baker Street?” Greg asked, perking up slightly to look at me. I nodded.

 

“Yeah, I decided it was high time for me to get my stuff back.”

 

“How did it go?”

 

“Actually, Mycroft was there. That made things … not easier, but I didn’t have to talk directly to Sherlock if I didn’t want to, which was nice.”

 

“He didn’t give you too much shit, did he?”

 

“No, he asked if I was okay and where I was staying. When hearing that I was staying with you, Sherlock actually asked if we were - well, dating.”

 

“He cared?” Greg asked, raising an eyebrow. 

 

“Yeah, he seemed kind of jealous, is the only way I can think to put it.”

 

“Strange.”

 

I hummed in agreement before letting the silence lasp over us. Greg tapped his fingers softly on the armrest of the chair, holding his head with his hand as though he was nursing a small headache. I turned back to the document before closing it in frustration. I was thinking of writing something, seeing as I’m jobless and have full days around here all to myself. If I was going to write, then would be ideal. 

 

“What did you say?” Greg asked quietly, breaking the silence between us as I shut my laptop and set it on the small coffee table in front of us. I turned to look at him.

 

“Sorry?”

 

“When Sherlock asked if we were dating, what did you say?”

“Oh-” I paused, avoiding eye contact with Greg and just staring down at the laptop on the coffee table. “I said yes.”


	18. Chapter 18

“Wait, you said yes?” Greg asked, sitting all the way up. I only nodded. “Why? Did you … want to be?”

 

“I don’t know, Greg,” I sighed, standing and starting to pace the length of the room, avoiding looking at him the entire time. “I was faced with my ex-lover and his brother, I was under pressure and it just … came out! I don’t want to say that I want to be in a relationship with you but maybe I do. I honestly don’t know. Besides, I told you it was up to you.”

 

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Greg said, standing and moving over to me. I paused in my pacing to look at him, arms length away. He looked at me before looking just over my shoulder, one hand going up to scratch at the back of his neck. My heart started racing. “Honestly, John … I … want to try. I don’t remember much from the day that we - well, you know, but I remember being honestly happy. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been happy like that and … it was because of you. If being in a relationship with you means we can both feel that way … I think it would be good for us.”

 

My heart was pounding so hard that I could hear it ringing in my ears, my throat was tight and I could feel my palms sweating just slightly. It’s true, I do remember feeling actually happy with Greg that night. But could it have been the alcohol that made us feel so happy? When I asked, Greg just shrugged.

 

“It’s still worth a try, isn’t it?” he asked. 

 

After a moment’s pause, I nodded. 

“Yeah. It is. Let’s give it a try.”


	19. Chapter 19

_It was very unexpected for me to find someone after Sherlock. I mean, sure I’ve done it before, but that was when I thought he was dead; and after that, I didn’t think that I was going to ever be with anyone again._

_Then Sherlock came back._

_I thought he and I were going to be staying together, like we had promised all those years prior; a life together solving crimes and just doing what we love, with whom we loved. Well, I thought I loved. I thought I was loved._

_But, of course, I was wrong._

_After the fall out with Sherlock, when I first moved in with Greg, I was prepared to stay alone, this time forever. I was convinced that I was never going to be able to love anyone except for Sherlock._

_Damn, was I wrong._

_Greg was bloody amazing! Our relationship was relaxed, slow, steady. We held hands and cuddled, and that’s all we did for the first few months. Hell, we didn’t even kiss. It was just slow healing, which, admittedly, both of us desperately needed. We still had battle wounds from our failed relationships, and they left scars, some of which may never heal completely. But they are just scars now. No more blood, no more pain. Just the memory of the pain. And that, to me, was amazing._

_Oh, and man! I wish I could only_ show _you Mycroft’s face when he showed up the next day at our door with a man to deliver all my stuff and Greg sat down next to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and us linking fingers. Priceless! Even the British Government himself didn’t see that coming!_

_Yeah, it’s been great fun, and I’m honestly very happy for once in a long while. But you don’t want to hear about how amazing my life was over those two months. You want to hear the dirty stuff. The stuff that continues the story. Of course. I get it. My happiness isn’t all that interesting to you, you nosey, nosey readers!_

_Okay, okay, fine. Let’s skip to a part all of you would like. Let’s see … what would you enjoy the most?_

_Our first kiss?_

_No … that wasn’t very eventful. It was just awkward really - and kinda cheesy. Long story short; it was raining, we had a fire going and we were cuddling under a blanket, we ended up kissing as the fire was dying. See? Told you. Cheesy! Sweet … But cheesy!_

_What about our first fight?_

_Nah, still uneventful. Besides, I don’t even remember what it was about, anyway. Something about pillows or milk or … did he wear my underwear? … No … No! We’re not going into that!_

_Ooh, I know!_

_I have just the story for you!_

_And, after reading your comments on some of my past stories with the Consulting Detective, I know all you dirty little readers are going to enjoy this one._

_So here it is …_

_Here’s the story about the first time that Greg and I had sex!_


	20. Chapter 20

Greg came into the flat after a long day of work and I looked up from my laptop to watch him. I had finally started working on an outline for a novel I wanted to write, so I saved my progress and closed the computer, frowning when Greg didn’t even so much as look at me while he made his way passed to head to our bedroom. 

“Love?” I asked, standing and setting my laptop on the coffee table, following after Greg. I found him laying on our bed on his stomach, face turned away from me and arms creating a bit of a lift for his head so he could still breath. “Greg? Are you okay?”

“No,” he moaned, only making my frown deepen. “I just want to be left alone, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind,” I said, stepping into the room and closing the door. Even though no one else was in the flat, it just felt more private when the door was shut. Secure. Safe.

“Please, John. I had a rough day, I kind of just want to be left alone for a little while.”

I sat down on the edge of the bed and placed my hand at the small of his back, rubbing small, caring circles into the tense muscles. “Can’t I help? Maybe you can tell me what happened?”

Greg sighed and remained quiet. I sat there, rubbing circles into his back for a long time, and I started to accept that he wasn’t going to tell me when he finally spoke up. 

“It’s embarrassing,” it was barely a whisper.

“So what? I don’t care, love. I’m not going to laugh.”

“Yes you will.”

“I promise I won’t.”

Greg was silent for a long time and, again, I was starting to accept that he wasn’t going to tell me when he took a deep breath and murmured, “We were chasing a criminal, my team and Sherlock. Sherlock was in the lead, dodging through the city and myself, along with five other men, were trailing him. I guess the guy we were chasing heard the sirens off in the distance so he bolted for a warehouse nearby, full of crates and barrels and machines. Creates were piled as high as the bolted ceiling and were packed close together, and, of course, the guy thought he could lose us by dodging between all the crates. 

I don’t really know what happened; I remember the crates ending as we got farther back and rows and rows of barrels opening up between all the crates. From out of nowhere, the guy we were chasing tackled me aside from behind a pile of crates and continued running, Sherlock close on his heels. I stumbled back, lost my footing, and lo and behold, landed ass first in a barrel.”

“Oh my god, are you okay?” I asked, my eyes scanning over his body at once. 

“Fine,” he murmured, “except for the fact that my fat ass couldn’t get out for the life of me. Had to wait around for my men to make the round through the crates before finding me. Took all five of them to pull the damn thing off. Thank god that they were so slow chasing Sherlock, or else who knows how long I would have been there,” he finished, his voice unamused. 

“How long were you there?”

“Three hours, it was a nightmare.”

“But they got you out,” I murmured, shifting until I could lay down next to Greg, still rubbing the circles into his back. 

“I know, but it shouldn’t have been that tight to begin with.”

“You’re not fat, Greg,” I frowned.

“What?”

“You said you couldn’t get your ‘fat ass out,’ and I know what you’re thinking. You’re not fat,” I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him into my chest. “Don’t think that.”

“Fine.”

“You don’t sound convinced,” my frown deepened and I kissed the back of his neck.

“Well, John, you know I don’t like my body,” Greg muttered into the pillow, pulling it closer to his face. “I know I’m not considered to be fat, but I can afford to lose a few pounds. I can’t help but feel self-conscious.”

I was silent for a long time, just studying Greg from behind. “Will you turn over?” I whispered, loosening my grip from around his middle. 

“Why?”

“Please?”

“Why?”

“Greg…”

“John?”

“Turn over.”

Greg groaned quietly before turning over onto his side, looking at me with a face that I can only describe as depression, maybe even embarrassment. I kissed his lips gently, cupping his cheek as I did so and held him there for a long moment, just kissing him. I wanted to see Greg happy, that was the whole reason we started this relationship in the first place, right? Because we made each other happy when the other felt like it wasn’t possible. 

We broke apart, breath coming slightly heavier, and I opened my eyes to look into his. “I love your body,” I breathed, just above a whisper.

“Really?”

I nodded and kissed his cheek, going down to start kissing his neck, Greg humming softly. “I really do.” I licked a stripe up his neck.

“What are you doing?” Greg asked quietly, tilting his head back, regardless, to give me more room.

“Showing you.”

“What?”

“I want to show you how much I love your body.”


End file.
